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Fuck. He rarely uses my name.

“She also thinks I'm a method actor.”

He stares at me for a moment.

“Which one does she think is the truth?”

“Depends on the minute.”

“Fuck. This is bad.”

I grunt. “I know.”

He turns onto the lane that leads deep into the woods to the cabin.

Trees pass in a blur. Pines. Colorful maples. Stones crunch beneath his tires.

Then he says something that makes my blood run cold. “She saw you covered in blood right after a hit.”

I’m silent for a beat, my blood pressure rising. “No.”

Beck glances at me. “I didn't say⁠—”

“I know exactly what you meant.”

“Roman—”

“She's not involved.”

He stops in front of the cabin.

“Whose house was it?”

“The target’s house.”

“No. Not that one.”

I bristle. “Nobody’s.”

“You were staring at it when I pulled up.”

“I wasn't.”

“Bullshit.”

“Mapquest.”

“Hot Lips.”

I glare at him.

He grins. “Callie's?”

I look out the window.

I’m sure he knows which one it was. Most people would see someone staring and not know exactly which of the four houses I was looking at.

But not Beck.